Sansa's Poem
by LooneyZampy
Summary: Everybody hates king Joffrey. But nobody hates him as much as Sansa does. During one ordinary evening, sitting at the table with the Queen and her children - including king Joffrey - Sansa's thoughts wander towards what she likes the most: poetry. In her mind, Sansa composes a poem, all while maintaining a cold façade in front of the royal family. M for some dark and gory imagery.


**What do you think that Sansa thinks about when sitting at a table with the royal family? Here's what _I_ imagine going trough her head in such moments...**

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_**Sansa's Poem**_

Sansa was sitting at the table, trying to enjoy her meal despite the very un-enjoyable company around her: she was taking her supper with the royal family. The only thing that could be worse than sitting at the same table as Cersei was sitting at the same table with Joffrey. And the only thing worse than sitting at the table with Joffrey was sitting at the table with _both_ Cersei _and_ Joffrey. To be fair, there were also two of the younger Cersei's children, but their aura of silent obedience wasn't powerful enough to counter the bad vibes escaping from their mother and their brother.

_Especially_ their brother...

Oh, how she hated the king. Every day in this place was hell for her and every moment spent in the same room with him was torture. Every time Sansa felt Joffrey's eyes on her, she felt her stomach turn and cold sweats enveloped her. And here, she had to live with him. Here, she had to dine with him.

The only way to cope with the horrible situation that was thrown on her was to escape in a different world... In the world in her head... In her imagination... Where everything she imagined would be possible... Sansa couldn't really _do_ anything, but she could always _think_. And when she would find herself in a situation like this one, in a situation where she couldn't swallow one bite of the meal in front of her because her stomach was so full of hatred that she felt she could throw it up, she would think of poems.

Sansa loved poetry. When she still lived in Winterfell, in what seemed now one thousand years ago, she would write poetry every day. Sometimes, she would read her poems to her mother and her father, who enjoyed it. Other days, even Bran and Arya would come to her room and ask her to read to them. Even them... For Sansa could write all kinds of stories happening in her poems, as well stories of princesses being abducted and saved by charming princes as stories of heroes slaying monsters. Arya enjoyed those... And where was she now? She fled and abandoned her. Now Sansa was all alone.

The king murdered her father. The king murdered her septa and probably sent people to look for her sister. But he wouldn't get her. Sansa prayed every night for Arya to be safe. Her staying alive would be at least some little victory for her house, the proof that the Lannisters couldn't have them all.

And when she didn't pray, Sansa thought of poems. But those were not those that she would want to write down.

_The king's head was held by his neck  
He couldn't see behind his back  
A knife flying to get him down  
Knocking off his head with his crown_

Sansa giggled. Those verses were usually thought on the spot and safely kept inside her head. Since they weren't written down, she could never decide on the exact pattern she was going to use for her verses. Still, she had always preferred four-line stanzas, with the same number of syllables by verse. A poem needed to be at least slightly regular if she wanted it to sound elegant. No matter its content...

_My sweet poems kept soundly in my head_  
_Never to be seen, never to be read_  
_Being only thought, for they can't be said_  
_All of them of Joffrey meeting his end_

_King Joffrey will be dying in one thousand ways_  
_Each one of his deaths bringing us better days_  
_In one thousand manners and in one thousand games_  
_One thousand times, I will be watching his remains_

_And one thousand times, I'll see him agonize_  
_I'll see the pain on his face caught by surprise_  
_I'll see coming towards me in the sunrise_  
_My brother Robb bringing his head as a prize_

_My brothers and sisters running towards me_  
_Saving me from this terror, from my tragedy_  
_In which I'm forced to marry my father's slayer_  
_Who made an honest man pass for a betrayer_

That seemed like a happy end, Sansa thought. When it comes to their form, her other poems – the shallow ones that she wrote just so the queen would tell her that she has a certain talent – were much more regular than this one. And yet, she loved this one the best. The others were perfect, had perfect rhythm, were perfect and shallow as the image that she had to give of herself if she wanted to stay alive and see her family – or at least the surviving members of her family – ever again. She looked back to the king. He was talking, but the blood drumming in her ears made her unable to hear anything. Suddenly, some more images came to her head...

_I can see blood coming from his eyeballs_  
_I see him devoured by wild animals_  
_I can see the Hound chopping off his head_  
_I can see king Joffrey dropping dead_

_I can see a faceless man ripping him open_  
_And his legs are no more and his neck is broken_  
_And then he's brought back to life to suffer some more_  
_With a proper amount of blood and guts and gore_

_His body will be cut in one thousand pieces_  
_Then the pieces hidden in one thousand places_  
_Then those places found by some sorceress of doom_  
_Who will bring them together in a torture room_

_And with some sort of dark magic make him alive_  
_And he will shout "again?" and he will cry and strive_  
_His body still painful, his memories still fresh_  
_Of all the spikes and knives that dug into his flesh_

_He knew they would dig again and kill him once more_  
_With the same sword that in his flesh already tore_  
_And he will scream again and cry and whine and gloat_  
_As the sorceress cuts his hands, his feet, his throat_

_She summons the dark forces from the other side of life_  
_Every single one of them with a dagger or a knife_  
_That they will point in his body and wake him up that way_  
_And he will come back again to suffer another day_

_He will escape the sorceress_  
_He will escape her dark forces_  
_He will flee towards the city_  
_Hoping he will be safe and free_

_But the evil will be punished_  
_He will be beaten and famished_  
_By the people who will find him_  
_Let another torture begin!_

_The city folks are tired of their kings_  
_And want to make this one pay for his sins_  
_He will feel the cold, he will feel hunger_  
_He will feel the power of their anger_

_The hungry folks of the city_  
_Will cut on him with no pity_  
_They will eat something fresh_  
_They will feast on his flesh_

"I am happy to see that you are finally eating again, little dove."

The voice of the queen woke Sansa from her reveries about the last stanza. The last two lines had one syllable less than the first two ones and she had promised herself that she will try and make her stanzas even. Not with each other, she was much too emotional for such regularity now, but still... Within one stanza, she always wanted to have the same number of syllables per verse... That was her... Thing. Even at her worst, she would want her verses to be even. And her stanzas to have four lines, no more, no less. Yet this time... _They will eat something fresh, They will feed on his flesh_... It was beautiful. The image was so vivid in her head, so clear and bright... But now she has to answer something to the queen, or the queen will make one of her famous hurtful and utterly annoying remarks, and Sansa felt that if she heard one more of those, she will start dreaming up of poems about Cersei too.

"Yes, your grace. I have found my appetite again."

Only then did Sansa look at her plate and noticed that it was empty. The meals that she was served here in King's Landing were always huge and copious, and even in her best days she could never finish her plate. It truly is incredible how imagining that her food was made out of the body parts of the king did wonders to her appetite...

_The king was now alone, lost in a dark forest_  
_And his mere presence there disturbed somebody's rest_  
_An army of skeletons emerged from the soil_  
_With the aim of making him pay for all their toil_

_King Joffrey moved backwards with fear_  
_How did he even end up here?_  
_What was that noise behind his back?_  
_A skeleton hand grabbed his neck._

_His breath escaped his lungs and flew in the night_  
_He was too weak to cry and too weak to fight_  
_Skeletal hands on his body, caressing_  
_Going under his clothes, he was protesting_

_Screaming this time when they invaded his body_  
_In an unclean way, in a way which was bloody_  
_In a way which hurt both physically and inside_  
_That he will never wash from his skin or his mind_

_What they did to him further, that, we will not tell_  
_Until the moment their hands dragged him straight to hell_  
_Where he will learn new types of pain to men unknown_  
_And they will laugh while king Joffrey will scream and moan_

_For he'll be feeling the worst pain anyone ever felt_  
_His blue eyes will drop from their sockets and his skin will melt_  
_As the fire consumes him and he utters one last scream_  
_"If gods are real and they hear me, let this all be a dream!"_

_As soon as he finished the thought, the king opened his eyes_  
_And realized that in his bed he safely and soundly lies_  
_He walked his head high in the throne room and sat on the throne_  
_Thinking that his nightmares and his troubles were forever gone_

_But the throne didn't want an usurper sitting on it_  
_So the spikes cut deep through the flesh of the arse of the git_  
_And when he jumped and made the mistake to lean on the back_  
_Of the throne, it also cut through his head and through his neck_

Sansa chuckled without realizing it. Now all the eyes were on her.

"What are you laughing about?" spat Joffrey.

"Oh... Um... Nothing your grace."

"You might be dense, but you wouldn't be laughing for no reason." Joffrey shouted. "The king has asked you a question!"

The silence was heavy around the table. Cersei was giving Joffrey her side-eyed stare, while the king's younger brother and sister were silent.

"I... I recalled a funny story with two pigeons" Sansa replied.

"Pigeons?" inquired Joffrey.

"Yes... Pigeons. This morning I heard them in front of my window. They were chasing each other. They... They could've been playing... Or they were fighting, I... I don't know."

Everybody around the table was listening. Sansa took one deep breath before continuing the story.

"At one moment, the pigeons went too close to the vegetation of the castle. They flew straight into it. One of them managed to untangle itself, but the other... The other couldn't. The herbs were holding too tightly, they were knotting in the pigeon's feathers... Every move could kill the pigeon. Every move... The second pigeon. The second pigeon flew far, far away... But then it came back! It came to save its sister."

Why'd she say sister? How could she possibly know that those pigeons were sisters? And do pigeons even have those sorts of... Relationships? Oh, and why would she care now, she was making it all up anyways. She continued.

"The other pigeon tried to pluck out the thorns that were trapping its sist...the... The feathers. The trapped pigeon's feathers. But it was hard. At one moment, a strong gust of wind blew and somehow, the entire part of the vegetation unstuck from the rest, trapping the other pigeon with it and falling to the floor."

Why did her eyes sting?

"It was funny to watch because... Isn't that ironical? Pigeons dying from a free fall."

"Yeah," the king said through a half-grin after a couple moments, "that's a funny story indeed."

They all went back to eating and ignoring her. Sansa was left to continuing the rest of the story in her head.

_The two pigeons merely died_  
_When they came back from the dead_  
_With only one thing in mind_  
_Going for king Joffrey's head_

_So they flew up to this room_  
_They found us at this table_  
_They were prophesying doom_  
_For the one they'd disable_

_They went for Joffrey's face_  
_And they plucked out his eyes_  
_They robbed him from his grace_  
_Now let's just hope he dies_

_They didn't leave us hope in vain_  
_For then two dead prostitutes came_  
_They came to torment their killer_  
_On his head they dropped a pillar_

_For their strength was stronger in death_  
_Than it was when they were living_  
_They wouldn't just take his last breath_  
_They'd take their time at his killing_

_In front of a horrified queen Cersei_  
_Who was screaming for them to have mercy_  
_Who was begging them to save her son's life_  
_They dragged him and then killed her with no strife_

_They dragged him to the dark cellar_  
_Where a man stood with a knife for flaying_  
_He would torture every cellar dweller_  
_And then he would kill them, there's no saying_

_All he would have to eat would be his own eyeballs_  
_Living in that room with his blood smeared on its walls_  
_His stomach full if worms that eat him from inside_  
_All that while the ex-king's on his pole, firmly tied_

_And when the pain crosses the line_  
_When it becomes too hard to take_  
_When it becomes as strong as mine_  
_When I saw my father's head on the stake_

_When it hurts as much as my chest_  
_Every time I go to bed_  
_And when my sleep is no rest_  
_I won't rest until I'm dead_

_When all his pain becomes so hard to bear_  
_So hard that it can finally compare_  
_To the pain that I feel right now and here_  
_The pain I feel more painful with fear_

_Then, when I will judge it fair,_  
_Sitting on the iron chair,_  
_I'll order that king Joffrey_  
_Be put out of his misery._

She needed to repeat it.

_Then, when I will judge it fair,_  
_Sitting on the iron chair,_  
_I'll order that king Joffrey_  
_Be put out of his misery._

_Then, when I will judge it fair,_  
_Sitting on the iron chair,_  
_I'll order that king Joffrey_  
_Be put out of his misery._

It was the end of the meal. Sansa stood up and went up straight to her room. Tonight, as every night, she will dream of her father's execution. She will dream of her mother who will never braid her hair again. She will dream of her three brothers far, far away. One of them bravely fighting to save her. Two of them needing to be saved themselves. She will dream of her sister, she will refuse to believe that she was caught and killed. But she will dream it. As every night before this one, her dreams will be dark and frightening. So she will try to influence the images that will come in her dreams by those that she created. They were equally dark and frightening, but at least, they were directed at the one who was the cause of her nightmares in the first place. From now on, every time before she falls asleep, as a prayer, she will recite her poem... Repeating its last lines over and over again, until she falls asleep.

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**So here it is, the tale of hatred towards king Joffrey. I think that pretty much all of us can understand Sansa hating him so much...**

**I hope that this fanfic has quenched your thirst for seeing him suffering while waiting for the fourth season, just as it did mine xD**

**Lots of love to all my readers, and don't hesitate to drop me a review! Your thoughts, your feelings, your opinions, I'd be very interested to read what you have to say and to see whether you liked my fanfic :)**


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